Well, the long and short of it is this. Richard Blewitt, esquire, was sityouated as follows: He'd an incum of three hundred a year from his father. Out of this he had to pay one hundred and ninety for money borrowed by him at collidge, seventy for chambers, seventy more for his hoss, aty for his suvvant on bord wagis, and about three hundred and fifty for a sepparat establishment in the Regency Park; besides this, his pockit-money, say a hunderd, his eatin, drinkin, and wine-marchant's bill, about two hunderd moar.
So that you see he laid by a pretty handsome sum at the end of the year.
I give this as a curosity--pipple doan't know how in many cases fashnabble life is carried on; and to know even what a real gnlmn OWES is somethink instructif and agreeable.
But to my tail. The very day after my master had made the inquiries concerning Mr. Dawkins, witch I mentioned already, he met Mr. Blewitt on the stairs; and byoutiffle it was to see how this gnlmn, who had before been almost cut by my master, was now received by him. One of the sweetest smiles I ever saw was now vizzable on Mr. Deuceace's countenance. He held out his hand, covered with a white kid glove, and said, in the most frenly tone of vice posbill, "What! Mr. Blewitt? It is an age since we met.
What a shame that such near naybors should see each other so seldom!"
Mr. Blewitt, who was standing at his door, in a pe-green dressing- gown, smoakin a segar, and singing a hunting coarus, looked surprised, flattered, and then suspicious.
"Why, yes," says he, "it is, Mr. Deuceace, a long time."
"Not, I think, since we dined at Sir George Hookey's. By-the-by, what an evening that was--hay, Mr. Blewitt? What wine! what capital songs! I recollect your 'May-day in the morning'--cuss me, the best comick song I ever heard. I was speaking to the Duke of Doncaster about it only yesterday. You know the duke, I think?"
Mr. Blewitt said, quite surly, "No, I don't."
"Not know him!" cries master; "why, hang it, Blewitt! he knows YOU; as every sporting man in England does, I should think. Why, man, your good things are in everybody's mouth at Newmarket."
And so master went on chaffin Mr. Blewitt. That genlmn at fust answered him quite short and angry: but, after a little more flummery, he grew as pleased as posbill, took in all Deuceace's flatry, and bleeved all his lies. At last the door shut, and they both went into Mr. Blewitt's chambers together.
Of course I can't say what past there; but in an hour master kem up to his own room as yaller as mustard, and smellin sadly of backo smoke. I never see any genmln more sick than he was; HE'D BEEN SMOAKIN SEAGARS along with Blewitt. I said nothink, in course, tho I'd often heard him xpress his horrow of backo, and knew very well he would as soon swallow pizon as smoke. But he wasn't a chap to do a thing without a reason: if he'd been smoakin, I warrant he had smoked to some porpus.
I didn't hear the convysation betwean 'em; but Mr. Blewitt's man did: it was,--"Well, Mr. Blewitt, what capital seagars! Have you one for a friend to smoak?" (The old fox, it wasn't only the SEAGARS he was a-smoakin!) "Walk in," says Mr. Blewitt; and they began a chaffin together; master very ankshous about the young gintleman who had come to live in our chambers, Mr. Dawkins, and always coming back to that subject,--saying that people on the same stairkis ot to be frenly; how glad he'd be, for his part, to know Mr. Dick Blewitt, and ANY FRIEND OF HIS, and so on. Mr. Dick, howsever, seamed quite aware of the trap laid for him. "I really don't know this Dawkins," says he: he's a chismonger's son, I hear; and tho I've exchanged visits with him, I doan't intend to continyou the acquaintance,--not wishin to assoshate with that kind of pipple." So they went on, master fishin, and Mr. Blewitt not wishin to take the hook at no price.
"Confound the vulgar thief!" muttard my master, as he was laying on his sophy, after being so very ill; "I've poisoned myself with his infernal tobacco, and he has foiled me. The cursed swindling boor! he thinks he'll ruin this poor Cheese-monger, does he? I'll step in, and WARN him."
I thought I should bust a-laffin, when he talked in this style. I knew very well what his "warning" meant,--lockin the stable-door but stealin the hoss fust.
Next day, his strattygam for becoming acquainted with Mr. Dawkins we exicuted; and very pritty it was.
Besides potry and the flute, Mr. Dawkins, I must tell you, had some other parshallities--wiz., he was very fond of good eatin and drinkin. After doddling over his music and boox all day, this young genlmn used to sally out of evenings, dine sumptiously at a tavern, drinkin all sorts of wine along with his friend Mr.
Blewitt. He was a quiet young fellow enough at fust; but it was Mr. B. who (for his own porpuses, no doubt,) had got him into this kind of life. Well, I needn't say that he who eats a fine dinner, and drinks too much overnight, wants a bottle of soda-water, and a gril, praps, in the morning. Such was Mr. Dawkinses case; and reglar almost as twelve o'clock came, the waiter from "Dix Coffy-House" was to be seen on our stairkis, bringing up Mr. D.'s hot breakfast.
No man would have thought there was anythink in such a trifling cirkumstance; master did, though, and pounced upon it like a cock on a barlycorn.
He sent me out to Mr. Morell's in Pickledilly, for wot's called a Strasbug-pie--in French, a "patty defau graw." He takes a card, and nails it on the outside case (patty defaw graws come generally in a round wooden box, like a drumb); and what do you think he writes on it? why, as follos:--"For the Honorable Algernon Percy Deuceace, &c. &c. &c. With Prince Talleyrand's compliments."
Prince Tallyram's complimints, indeed! I laff when I think of it, still, the old surpint! He WAS a surpint, that Deuceace, and no mistake.
Well, by a most extrornary piece of ill-luck, the nex day punctially as Mr. Dawkinses brexfas was coming UP the stairs, Mr.
